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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317545">Ache</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor'>CCNSurvivor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ache [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Astral Projection, F/F, Kinktober 2020, Long-Distance, Smut, seeing but not touching, smut with feeling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:21:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Samhain and Zelda is determined to spend the night with Marie.</p>
<p>For Kinktober prompt: Zarie and phone sex, except it's astral projection (and so, seeing but no touching).</p>
<p>I took a bit of liberty here and made it "almost touching" ;) Part 1/3.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marie LaFleur/Zelda Spellman, Zarie - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ache [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ache</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is nearing midnight on the eve of Samhain and the mortuary at the edge of the forest is looming dark and ominously. Bereft of jack-o’lanterns and other such frivolous decoration found aplenty in the neighbouring town of Greendale, it is cloaked in an air of foreboding, as though its bare bleakness is a warning sign that nothing good awaits inside. But the autumn chill knows no care nor boundaries and slips through cracks in the walls and underneath doorways. It whispers through pitch-black corridors, drawn to the only source of light which emanates faintly from one of the bedrooms.<br/>
<br/>
Zelda hardly notices its presence or how it makes her carefully placed candles flicker and dance. Her eyes have been focused on the mirror in front of her for quite some time, as though she can still detect her lover’s familiar features tucked away in its pristine surface. Cream pots and hair brush lie forgotten on the vanity, traces of normalcy and routine that no longer please her. She feels hollow now. The dark patches of emptiness, of a gaping void that have accompanied her her entire life have morphed and expanded, growing cracks that shatter like longing.<br/>
<br/>
At last, Zelda uncrosses her legs and rises, the unfurling fabric of her silk nightgown a gentle caress against her bare legs. Tonight, she refuses to settle for a mere mirror call. Tonight, she will not disappear between cold sheets in an empty bed, the ghost of Marie’s voice in her ear. No. Tonight is Samhain, and strengthened by the full moon and the spirits set free to roam, she, too, will travel to unite with her love.</p>
<p>She carefully steps inside the circle of candles and ensures that the symbols drawn in chalk have not been disturbed. When she is satisfied, she lowers herself into their middle and closes her eyes. Ordinarily, a journey across such distance would require a token of the subject to tether oneself to. A lock of their hair for the more saccharin inclined, for example. Zelda, on the other hand, requires no such petty aids. Marie’s presence has always been bright and strong, and her mind is eager to fill in the rest. All those sensory details she has carefully stored away for months and months. The darker, prominent notes of her perfume. The lilt of her chuckle. The finer shades of her beautiful brown eyes. The cool, tender comfort of her palm in the early hours of the morning.<br/>
<br/>
There is a brief pause in her musings, as she takes a moment to occupy herself with her hair. She smoothes it out over her left shoulder to appease her own vanity, not in an effort to distract away from the softness that befalls her whenever her thoughts linger too long on the woman she so desperately aches for. At long last she is satisfied and closes her eyes once more and permits the mosaic of details in her mind to guide her across the planes.<br/>
<br/>
Marie LaFleur is a beacon of light that pierces through the misty haze which accompanies her astral projection. She has to lift her hand to shield against the brightness at first, can only make out her familiar shape and the warmth that has her gravitating closer and closer. When her vision clears, she finds Marie curled up on her side, a book in one hand. She can tell she has found her in her bedroom by the scent of incense, and carefully moves to lie down behind her.<br/>
<br/>
“Astral projection over such a distance, Zelda Spellman? You are living dangerously.”<br/>
<br/>
She is yet to see her face, but already she can feel the upward curve of her lips, as though she is smiling against her skin.<br/>
<br/>
“Dangerous?” she tuts, close to Marie’s ear. “Hardly, my dear. I am not a common witch and tonight is no ordinary night, as you well know.”<br/>
<br/>
“No common witch, perhaps. But one who enjoys to lecture. To deter me away from my book, <em>n’est-ce pas</em>?”<br/>
<br/>
Her tone is light and playfully dry and Zelda wishes she could nip at her earlobe in that teasing way she knows will make all words die on her tongue and bring sighs and whimpers forth instead.<br/>
<br/>
“You are free to try, <em>chérie</em>.” Humour is starting to colour her tone brighter yet.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?”<br/>
<br/>
She turns now to look over her shoulder, her eyes calm and gentle. “I am Mother of Spirits, and tonight the veil is thin as you said.” She abandons her book and raises a hand which ghosts past her cheek in a tender caress. “Your intentions are almost discernible.”<br/>
<br/>
“And I ought to be ashamed?”<br/>
<br/>
She is attempting to sound aghast, but the twisted ugly fear she often tucks away and out of sight, is just as plainly audible as her desires. And Marie’s entire countenance softens as though to accommodate that for which she thinks there is no room. Her fingertips skim over her cheek once more and for just a moment Zelda thinks she can almost connect to her touch.<br/>
<br/>
“You are beginning to neglect your book, my dear.”<br/>
<br/>
Her voice rasps even to her own ears, and knowing that it might grow raspier still, she pulls away to meet Marie’s gaze.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you have a proposal, Zelda?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, I believe you already know.”<br/>
<br/>
Laughter lines crinkle around Marie’s eyes as she touches her tongue to her upper lip, knowing with absolute certainty how that simple gesture will only further ignite her. Her index finger curls once as she turns to roll over again, beckoning her to dare follow suit. A whisper of words tickles the shell of her ear. A teasing remark, no doubt, that she cannot quite grasp in her astral form. She huffs in annoyance and mirrors her movement, offering no further words to feed Marie’s ever growing amusement. She is fortunate, she thinks, that she is enamoured enough with her by now to tolerate such shameless teasing.<br/>
<br/>
“You are fond of me then, <em>chérie</em>?” The question emerges with feigned innocence from behind the book and Zelda rolls her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
“Not at present.” But as her nose skims along the line of Marie’s exposed neck, her eyes drift shut, belying the sentiment entirely.<br/>
<br/>
There is something to be said for the texture of “almost” that this encounter possesses. The scent of her skin right there below her jaw that she can make out by memory alone. The curve of her shoulder against the fabric of her white crop top that would shift to expose more if only she could tug…<br/>
<br/>
Marie rolls her neck into the pillow and coyly obliges, a small exhalation revealing how much she delights in this game. Emboldened, Zelda proceeds.<br/>
<br/>
“I yearn to touch you,” she articulates with clear focus, but in her mind only, waiting to see what Marie will reveal next.<br/>
<br/>
Her mouth grows full of her own hot breath that she does not dare exhale lest it break the moment. And perhaps Marie can feel it too, for she prolongs her anticipation while her eyes leisurely finish the last paragraph of her book. She turns a page. Zelda’s hand moves by its own accord along her arm and when the other woman chuckles, she knows that it is fuelled by this very impatience.<br/>
<br/>
“Touch me then, <em>kòkò</em>t. You know I am waiting.”<br/>
<br/>
Her hand is already moving across the bare expanse of her own belly, caressing it with an open palm. Her lids flutter and the barest of sighs washes up against Marie’s ear. Her entreaty comes gentler this time.<br/>
<br/>
“Put your hand on mine, chérie. I will guide.”<br/>
<br/>
Zelda barely remembers to nod but somehow manages to follow her instructions. Still, something clenches sadly when her fingers ghost through Marie’s. Longing unfurls beneath the tight knot of pain and her following breath emerges heavy and swift.<br/>
<br/>
“We are both here. You <em>can</em> feel me. Do not be sad.”<br/>
<br/>
She feels the slightest tug of her hand somehow, as if she’s pulling her along. Moving across her belly once more, thumbs tracing the high line of her waist and to the tip of her hipbone. The rhythm of her exhalations, growing steadily in pace, is rushed and audible and allows her to visualise the rise and fall of her chest as they progress. They are moving upwards now, across flesh that is shivering under the touch of their joint hands. She can almost feel the heated flush, the ripples of goosebumps rising.<br/>
<br/>
“Your breasts now, Marie.”<br/>
<br/>
It comes out so husky, she can’t be certain whether it is spoken or thought.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Pasyans</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Not quite a reprimand, but a clear instruction, accompanied by a click of the tongue. And so their hands journey a little longer, fingers curling to drift along the sternum to her collarbones, drawing a secret map of feather light touches.<br/>
<br/>
“Darling, please. I do not wish to beg.”<br/>
<br/>
Marie’s chuckle catches between jittery intakes of breath, and even without seeing her face, she can feel the rumbling warmth she exudes. And so mercy comes at last, as she moves her hand to cup her breast.<br/>
<br/>
Zelda, no longer satisfied to listen and sense, opens her eyes to gaze over her shoulder and at the spectacle below. She watches as Marie kneads her breast, memorises how grasping fingers leave faint marks in her dark skin.<br/>
<br/>
“What else, <em>chérie</em>?” she encourages, voice thicker now. “Your thoughts-“ A pause punctuated by a sharp sigh. “I cannot…”<br/>
<br/>
“Pinch your nipple,” she demands. “Draw it up between your fingers. Yes, like that. Good.”<br/>
<br/>
She has to stop briefly to touch her tongue to her lips, her throat entirely too dry. But her eyes never leave her nipple, pulled taut and stiff. She yearns to cover it with her mouth, to warm it with her breath and to feel it swell between her lips.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Tanpri</em>, Zelda. I can feel it.”<br/>
<br/>
“A little more then, yes?”<br/>
<br/>
She reaches around her, bringing their bodies flush together, back to chest, and draws the pad of her thumb across her other nipple. It hardens as though the touch is palpable, and Marie moans breathlessly into the pillow. Her heated form trembles with abandon and for a while Zelda loses herself entirely in her sounds, in the sight of her writhing unabashedly against her while her fingers continue to tease and rub.<br/>
<br/>
“More still?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, darling. Until you are coming undone.”<br/>
<br/>
With one flick of the wrist Marie undresses and draws her right leg up to award her easy access to herself. She shivers when Zelda’s fingers leisurely trail down between her breasts and over her stomach but follows suit with her own hand until they meet at the junction of her thighs.<br/>
<br/>
“Slowly,” the redhead orders, before her voice buckles underneath a dark, heady moan.<br/>
<br/>
Damp heat whispers against her, as she runs her palm over Marie’s lips, pausing once or twice to apply pressure with the heel of her hand. And when Marie shudders underneath a groan and eagerly bucks upwards into her own hand, Zelda’s body instinctively grinds into her, desperate for real contact.<br/>
<br/>
“I thought- You said -Slowly.” Even though robbed of breath, she still manages a bright smile that makes her eyes shine. Sweat glistens on her forehead.<br/>
<br/>
“I am wont to get ahead of myself where you are concerned, my dear.”<br/>
<br/>
<em>Sweet Hecate, to kiss her now, tenderly and fully.</em><br/>
<br/>
The ache must have twisted her affectionate expression, for understanding dawns on Marie’s face and the amusement slowly ebbs away.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Ansanm</em>,” she insists and rests her hand on top of hers, asking her to proceed.<br/>
<br/>
By the crackle of magic, that faint, palpable energy, she guides her now to spread her open, running two fingers up and then down between her lips. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, creating ecstasy for herself and for Zelda who can hear the extent of her wetness but not quite feel it. Once or twice, her thumb delays over her clit to rub or circle. With growing moans her pleasure builds, and Zelda is certain she forgets to breathe entirely. Her thoughts are turning messier also, no longer drawn out yearnings contained by words, but panted syllables dissolving in desire. Together they rock instinctively, albeit clumsily at first, before finding a rhythm. And when Zelda’s name emerges from Marie’s lips in a dark, deep sigh, she, too, feels as though she might fall apart.<br/>
<br/>
Bright shapes dance behind her closed lids, and noise rushes unpleasantly in her ears. There is something she really ought to remember, but it is far away and hazy, and the body by her side exudes such warmth.<br/>
<br/>
She could very nearly disappear.<br/>
<br/>
How easy it might be…<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Chérie</em>?”<br/>
<br/>
She wraps herself around her, can almost feel their foreheads touching.<br/>
<br/>
“Zelda, my love. It is time to leave.”<br/>
<br/>
A gentle but assertive force is pushing her away.<br/>
<br/>
“I’d rather not.” It ends up sounding petulant, and her dignity feels slighted.<br/>
<br/>
“You linger underneath my skin, <em>chérie</em>. And soon I will visit. <em>Ou se tout pou mwen.</em> Rest now.”<br/>
<br/>
Words are forming on her tongue but fail to be articulated. And suddenly she is back in the cold room in the mortuary at the edge of the forest, alone once more, all yearnings heightened.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- kòkòt - Haitian creole for sweetheart<br/>- Pasyans - patience<br/>- Ansanm - together<br/>- Ou se tout pou mwen - you are everything to me</p></blockquote></div></div>
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